Chapter 4 - The Cottage in the Orchard
The drive to Grandpa's property was silent, but for the first time in my life, the silence was peaceful. The heater in his old Ford truck hummed, keeping the freezing rain at bay as we drove through the dark, winding country roads.
When we arrived, the cottage looked like something out of a painting. It sat on the edge of the dark orchard, its small windows glowing with a warm, welcoming light that Grandpa had turned on before we left.
We carried my three boxes inside. The smell of cedar and dried lavender filled the air. There was a comfortable leather armchair, a sturdy oak table, and a bed covered in a thick, handmade quilt.
"Get some sleep, Ethan," Grandpa said, standing at the door. "Tomorrow, you start saving your own money. You start building your own bridge."
"I will, Grandpa," I said, my voice thick. "Thank you."
For the next three weeks, I lived in a state of quiet disbelief.
Every morning, I woke up to the sound of birds in the orchard instead of Claire’s kids screaming upstairs or Dad pounding on the floorboards to remind me to take out the trash. I went to work, did my job, and when the first of December arrived, my paycheck hit my bank account.
For the first time in three years, the entire amount stayed there.
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I sat at the small oak table in the cottage, staring at my phone screen, looking at the balance. It wasn't a fortune, but it was mine. It was the foundation of my freedom.
But while my life had found its balance, the storm back at the main house was only growing.
